Rite of Wrongs by Mica Stone

her. When Miriam held up her badge to the glass, the woman’s mouth formed a big O .
    Fumbling with the overhead catch, she hurried to let them in. “I’m sorry. All that hammering, I expected to find an impatient parent,” she said, securing the entrance once they were inside. “Some people don’t understand the meaning of an appointment. Or office hours.”
    Ignoring the crack rather than taking it personally, Miriam looked around. The room smelled like clean babies, which she took as a very good sign, and was carpeted with the indestructible indoor-outdoor stuff that came patterned in tracks for race cars, fences for farm animals, and oceans for pirate ships and submarines.
    Milk crates of toy cars and trains sat against the walls. Others held plastic dolls. Tables were littered with copies of The Cat in the Hat and Highlights and The Poky Little Puppy , along with parenting magazines. The two TVs mounted high on the walls weren’t visible from outside. One played Sesame Street , the other Maya & Miguel . Both were close-captioned.
    Miriam thought of the playroom in her parents’ home, her nieces and nephews romping, her mother never complaining. She cleared her throat and turned to the woman. “I apologize for the hammering. I’m Detective Miriam Rome. This is Detective Ike Ballard. And you are?”
    “Helen Hudson. I’m Dr. Nguyen’s head nurse, but I also manage the office.” She worried her hands together, her fingers free of rings, her nails free of polish. She stood about five feet four. Miriam put her age at sixty. “You must be here about Dr. Gardner’s wife. Such a tragedy. The sweetest, most generous woman.”
    “We’d like to talk to the staff before you start seeing patients,” Ballard said, his voice calming, his smile hiding the fact that he could be a real ass. “Do you have an office or break room we can use?”
    She nodded. “Is anything wrong? I mean, other than the, uh . . .”
    “No, ma’am,” he assured her. “Just routine questions.”
    “Okay, then. This way,” she said, and led them inside.
    Two women, their scrubs matching Helen’s, sat at the nurses’ station, chatting and laughing until they looked up and caught Miriam’s eye. Or maybe it was the gun on her hip that silenced them. Helen continued on. Miriam gave both women a nod and followed, clicking her pen as she walked.
    “Do you want to start with me?” Helen tossed the question over her shoulder.
    “That would be great,” Ballard said. “And since you manage the office, you should be able to give us the names of everyone who works here, yes?”
    “Of course.” Helen pushed open the break-room door and set about dumping the coffee from the near-empty pot and brewing another. “There’s the three doctors, Gardner, Nguyen, and Cuellar, and two girls at the front who handle payments, insurance claims, and schedule the appointments. Then there are the nurses. Eight on staff, and usually six here every day.”
    As Helen rattled off everyone’s names, Miriam sat in one of the blue-plastic chairs and scribbled them down in columns according to their jobs, listening while Ballard asked the nonthreatening questions designed to put the older woman at ease.
    How long have you worked here?
    How long have you known Dr. Gardner?
    How often did you see his wife?
    How did the couple seem to get along?
    They were questions Ballard didn’t have to think hard to come up with. They were also questions he knew Miriam would never ask. She wasn’t charming enough to set anyone at ease. Ballard did it well. So did Melvin. Miriam tended to go straight for the jugular.
    Still, she took down all of Helen’s answers before butting in.
    “Who else is in and out regularly? Besides the patients and their parents?” When Helen frowned, Miriam added, “I assume you use a janitorial service and have drug-sales reps drop by. Maybe lab couriers.”
    Nodding briskly, Helen reached for a ceramic coffee mug. It was white with the